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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501973">here for long but not quite here to last</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/joongsfavedenim/pseuds/joongsfavedenim'>joongsfavedenim</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Businessman Doyoung, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mentions of Substance Abuse, musician taeyong, pretty mild but still very much there, protective yuta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:35:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501973</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/joongsfavedenim/pseuds/joongsfavedenim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The dark haired man still hadn’t taken his eyes off Taeyong. Hundreds, sometimes thousands if they were lucky, of pairs of eyes looked at Taeyong every week. And yet, none of them had the impact of this man’s midnight stare. </p>
<p>or </p>
<p>Taeyong meets Doyoung and gets really flustered.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>here for long but not quite here to last</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>the idea for this piece came to me while i was listening to How Do You Feel by Post Animal - i highly suggest listening to it while you read, it is a sublime sound. &amp; as i mentioned in the tags, there's some talk of substance abuse here. i did my best to write about it responsibly, but i am always looking for ways to become more knowledgeable about real life themes, so if you have specific feedback about that aspect, i would love to hear your thoughts! xoxo, thanks guys!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He was spinning out. Only this time, it was in the best way possible. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The echoes from the performance hall pulsing behind his sternum and the delicious strain of his voice feeding into the mic. His body wasn’t his own. And it didn’t belong to stimulants or depressants either. Not anymore. It was solely the music’s. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His consciousness came in waves when he was performing. Sometimes he would look up and his face would be inches from his guitarist’s. Or he would suddenly realize he was flat on his back, screaming into the mic as he laid on the edge of the stage. So when his manager called for a ten minute break, Taeyong’s vocals were still ringing out long past when his band mates had stopped playing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There were a few good-natured chuckles as they put down their instruments and Taeyong slowly came back to himself. As his breathing evened out and his vision cleared, he locked eyes with someone. Sultry would be the only way to describe the stranger’s gaze. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His slender fingers were resting gently against his cheek as he eyed Taeyong curiously. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“ - just like I told you. My lead singer treats even rehearsals as if his skinny ass has sold out Madison fucking Square fucking Garden!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The stranger nodded and Taeyong realized that he was standing right next to his manager, several rows back in the auditorium. Taeyong grinned sheepishly, shrugging. “Thanks, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two men were now walking down a side aisle in the direction of the stage as Taeyong’s manager continued to brag. The dark haired man still hadn’t taken his eyes off Taeyong. Hundreds, sometimes thousands if they were lucky, of pairs of eyes looked at Taeyong every week. And yet, none of them had the impact of this man’s midnight stare. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Taeyong?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I asked,” his manager said, with some concern. “How do you feel?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong’s mouth went dry as the other man smirked, nearing ever closer to the front of the stage. Taeyong fumbled to get the mic back into its stand as he asked, “What now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After a sigh, his manager repeated, “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span>, how do you feel? Like about tonight’s set?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Taeyong said, a shaky laugh rattling through his frame. “Uh, I’m pretty happy with it.” And he truthfully was. They were all very proud of the sound they had cultivated for their newest album. As he spoke, the two men climbed the small set of stairs and joined him onstage. “I’m excited to see how the fans will receive it live.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm-hmm. Yes, good.” His manager gestured, at last, to the stranger. “Yong, I’d like to introduce a potential investor. Kim - “</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Kim Doyoung.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong miraculously instructed his hand to grasp Doyoung’s even as his brain was short circuiting - likely from seeing impossible beauty this closely. His skin was smooth and his hand was only a little cold against Taeyong’s palm of fire. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry - I...it gets hot up here,” he stammered, retracting his hand and wiping it on his jeans. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course it does,” Doyoung responded. He couldn’t be sure, but Taeyong thought he saw a sly wink. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong was going to pass out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We have some old connections, Kim and I,” his manager was saying. “And he’s really interested in the bands I represent. Especially yours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to meet you when I found out you would be in town.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, we uh. Definitely appreciate your interest.” Taeyong was for sure going to pass out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you don’t mind, we were going to grab drinks and watch the rest of the set,” his manager explained. He might as well have been speaking a language Taeyong had never heard before. Taeyong was too busy counting each of Doyoung’s thick, dark eyelashes. Figuratively, of course. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” he said. He tried to think of something witty or polite to add, but all he could produce was an anticlimactic: “Enjoy it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next few songs were shaky. Thankfully, everyone chalked it up to being fresh into their tour and Taeyong didn’t have to admit aloud that he was vibrating out of his skin because of an especially hot man eyeing him from the balcony of the auditorium. They found their stride for the final song, though. Probably because it was the one Taeyong was most proud of. They had extended the length of it considerably for live performances and there was an intense and heady guitar solo about three fourths of the way through the song. Losing yourself in it was simple if you let go. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Half an hour later, he somehow found himself dining in a hotel restaurant with Doyoung and his manager. Taeyong and Doyoung stayed quiet most of the time, letting Taeyong’s manager fill the silence with boasts of Taeyong’s bright future and his potential influence on postmodern rock. Doyoung nodded politely in agreement when necessary, and continued to appraise Taeyong in the meantime. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Soon, his manager was close to being three sheets to the wind, and excused himself after draining the remainder of his glass of cheap scotch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry if he’s kept you from any responsibilities,” Taeyong laughed fondly. “I appreciate him a lot, but...he could talk to a brick wall just as easy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s no problem,” Doyoung responded calmly, that same steady smirk resting on his lips. “I accepted his invitation knowing it would be a several hour commitment.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong moved to politely chuckle, but Doyoung continued swiftly. “Plus,” he added, sitting up straighter in his chair. “How could I resist getting essentially a private performance from such a talented bunch of musicians?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He should be used to praise by now, having made it to where he is, but Taeyong reddened significantly, waving Doyoung’s compliment off. “No, no. The music was kinda rocky tonight. I was off my game.” Taeyong sighed, grimacing. “Sorry you couldn’t have seen us in better shape.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I kind of make my own schedule. There’s no reason I can’t make it to another show.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Taeyong wanted to slap himself for letting the eagerness show so much in his tone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung smiled gently. “Of course.” A beat of silence passed and Taeyong could feel his heartbeat in his throat. “After I take care of the check,” Doyoung said smoothly, “would you let me treat you to a drink?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Taeyong was left breathless by the speed of his answer. And then his brain caught up to his lust.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait scratch that, dumbass. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean - ” Taeyong corrected himself, “I’m sorry. I’m actually eight months sober.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shit.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong resisted the urge to laugh as his companion’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That was fucking rude of me,” Doyoung murmured.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” Taeyong insisted. “It’s part of having a social life. There’s no way everyone who meets me will know that I don’t drink. So I have to be okay with saying no.” He punctuated his philosophy by shrugging.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a good way of looking at it,” Doyoung said, falling back into his breezy demeanor. “But I do feel like an ass for those two glasses of wine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t let sobriety make you feel guilty.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time since meeting, Taeyong finally felt like he was the one doing the eyeing. Some people don’t flush or turn red when they’re feeling vulnerable, so he just prayed that he had at least given Doyoung butterflies or something similar, in case Doyoung was one of those people. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We can still get out of here, though,” Taeyong offered. “Bars don’t bother me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung pushed his chair back, standing up and offering a polite hand to Taeyong. “How about a walk by the bridge instead?” The two simple gold bands Doyoung wore on his forefinger glinted in the low light of the restaurant.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>How had Taeyong not passed out by now?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That sounds really nice.” He took Doyoung’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>//</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The tour was almost over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And not a moment too soon. Taeyong’s brain and nerves were calling for an extended break, each beyond fried. This past morning, as he had been about to get on the plane with everyone else, Taeyong realized his boarding pass was missing. As he, his band mates, and manager all had a collective panic attack at the gate, a kind-eyed woman with two young children handed Taeyong a slip of paper. “This fell out of your back pocket, hon,” she smiled, clinging to the hands of her daughters. He almost cried as he took his boarding pass back into his hands and thanked her. Taeyong’s nerves were - repeat - </span>
  <em>
    <span>fried</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The final two shows were both in New York - separate nights and separate venues to accommodate their slightly larger fanbase in the city. Thankfully, the first one went smoothly and the band would soon be done with their official obligations for the evening. Tonight they found themselves at another industry mixer. They only had to show their faces for an hour or so, and then their manager would do all the useful networking on their behalf. Taeyong was very much looking forward to a scalding hot shower followed by lying as flat as possible on the hotel bed in his sweats. Maybe he would even let his mind work at some lyrics that had been plaguing his thoughts for the last week.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong absentmindedly pulled at the seams on the inside of his jacket pockets. There were only so many sparkling cucumber waters he could drink at an open bar like this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was running out of conversation stamina as he was introduced to person after person.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Lee?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He braced himself and readied his Polite Smile™. But, as he turned, the genuine Taeyong burst through the surface. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Doyoung.” He said the name relatively quietly, testing how it felt on his tongue. Taeyong laughed warmly, extending a hand. “Since when have you called me Mr. Lee?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung accepted his hand, grasping on firmly and resting his other palm gently on Taeyong’s elbow. He looked Taeyong up and down as he’d done when they met. Taeyong shivered deliciously. Doyoung responded, “Oddly enough, I don’t think I’ve ever addressed you like, in </span>
  <em>
    <span>person</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong wracked his brain. He supposed they hadn’t yet had a reason for saying one another’s names out loud until now. It was a strange realization to have about someone whose name had hardly left his mind in the last few months. “Well,” Taeyong sighed, “I’m really glad you were able to make it. Did you just get here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung gave Taeyong’s hand one last squeeze before letting go. “No, I actually had time to catch the last few songs.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?” Taeyong was suddenly nervous.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The dark haired man focused on Taeyong’s face, eyes tranquill. “It was breathtaking, as always.” By now, Taeyong knew what Doyoung was implying, and he flushed as heat rushed to his cheeks and neck.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yong - how goes it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong turned to his right, sights landing on Yuta. Yuta side-stepped closer to Taeyong as he sized up the man in front of them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yuta,” Taeyong said, adding a slight warning tone to his voice. “This is my friend, Doyoung.” Before Yuta could cut in with a potentially snide remark, Taeyong continued. “Doyoung, this is our bassist, Yuta.” He slipped his hands around Yuta’s arm, tugging playfully. “Forgive his glare. He forgets that I’m actually older and don’t need the little brother treatment all the time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuta ignored the ‘little brother’ comment, continuing to smirk at Doyung. “Nice to meet you,” he relented. Taeyong could still feel some tension in Yuta’s muscles as he clung to his arm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You as well,” Doyoung smiled generously. “You play really well.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yuta let out a small breath of laughter, as if he knew immediately that Doyoung had no idea how well any of the other musicians performed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean it - ”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Waving a hand, Yuta chuckled, “It’s okay, honestly. We all know he steals the show.” He ran a hand through Taeyong’s hair, ruffling his locks lovingly. “Have a good night, guys.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As Yuta strode off, back toward the crowds of party guests, Taeyong ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “He means well, I swear. Just - protective…” he trailed off, watching Yuta slip into the mass of bodies.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you known each other long?” Doyoung gently took Taeyong’s hand again, careful to leave their intertwined fingers out of view.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Since high school,” Taeyong supplied. He delighted in the way Doyoung’s fingers left pockets of electricity on his skin, and he committed the chills he was getting to memory. “Yuta doesn’t have siblings so I’m the closest thing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In lieu of a verbal response, Doyoung tugged Taeyong’s hand slightly. Taeyong took an unsteady breath, risking a glance sideways. Something mixed with affection and cockiness was in Doyoung’s stare. Taeyong felt pinned down. He loved it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t have to stay much longer,” he said conversationally. When Doyoung raised his brows, Taeyong continued, a soft grin twisting his lips. “I don’t think anyone would notice if I left early.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he slid into the passenger side of Doyoung’s sleek, black sedan, Taeyong decided that he should turn up the doe eyes more often. Then, a bit later, he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m never going to be above pouting ever again,</span>
  </em>
  <span> while Doyoung pushed him up against the closed door of his apartment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Happy?” Doyoung asked intently. “Got what you wanted, hm?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like you needed convincing,” Taeyong quipped. “You were dragging me through that parking garage.” He punctuated this statement with a quick bite, sinking his teeth gently into Doyoung’s earlobe. Satisfaction settled in his chest when Doyoung let out a sharp groan.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung pushed Taeyong’s shoulders away, anchoring Taeyong firmly to the door. “You’re too pretty...and, therefore, deserve my full honesty.” Taeyong felt his stomach take a confused plummet, feverishly searching Doyoung’s eyes for answers. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>, in fact, drag you through that garage.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They both slightly crumpled with laughter for a second. After they recovered Doyoung kissed him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong shivered and let out another quiet laugh, letting the sound brush against Doyoung’s lips as he broke their kiss for a moment. “Are your hands always cold?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung answered with an airy chuckle of his own, tugging on Taeyong’s hair a bit. “Poor circulation. Genetic,” he explained. He slipped a hand around the side of Taeyong’s face, pulling at Taeyong’s bottom lip with his thumb. “I should have warmed them up with the heater in my car. Sorry, honey.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Taeyong panted, “Wanted your hand on my thigh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s nice to hear you indulge in some greediness,” Doyoung cooed softly, pressing a tender kiss against the corner of Taeyong’s mouth. “Always so giving - you forget that you need to take, too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong tensed slightly, unintentionally clenching his jaw. It didn’t go unnoticed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You okay?” Doyoung took a small step back, creating space between their bodies.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Taeyong said immediately. “I like this, I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung let his hands fall away, keeping soft eye contact. “But?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong reached for Doyoung again, gently gripping his fingers. “I’m just...” He traced light circles on Doyoung’s skin, attempting to soothe both of their worries. “I haven’t, um, been intimate with anyone since I’ve been sober.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung didn’t need to say anything for Taeyong to sense that he was ramping up to an apology. “I promise that everything is okay,” Taeyong continued, pulling Doyoung’s hands towards him and securing them on his hips. “I like you a lot. But it’s been a long time since someone has wanted to make me feel...good...who actually like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. If that makes sense.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Doyoung whispered, a warmth coating his voice. “We can stop, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just for now?” Taeyong asked, slightly pouting, peering at Doyoung from underneath the fringe of his bangs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung pressed his thumbs into the crests of Taeyong’s hip bones. “Just for now,” he agreed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Taeyong breathed. His hands were still on Doyoung’s. He pushed his palms upward, squeezing Doyoung’s forearms and giving him a shy smile of gratitude. “You’re very pretty,” he added, ignoring his embarrassment in favor of hyping the other man up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung’s hand shot up to cover his mouth as he laughed. His eyes crinkled and his shoulders shook slightly. Taeyong giggled and wondered how often people were able to catch Doyoung off guard.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Doyoung cupped Taeyong’s cheek gently after he found his breath. “You’re very pretty, too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You already said that,” Taeyong teased.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung answered with a charming shrug.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As Doyoung stepped away again, Taeyong kept their fingers intertwined, but he also took a moment to glance around the space. Doyoung chatted casually as he walked them through a small hallway into a kitchen. This whole time Taeyong had been picturing Doyoung living in a white and grey minimalist high-rise or something; it would have seemed fitting with his style of dress and sometimes businesslike attitude. But, Taeyong had been known to be wrong.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Everything about the home felt warm. All the wood was a happy cherry or chestnut color and stained glass lamps made the rooms glow in a very peaceful way. The kitchen and small dining area bled into the living space organically, as if there was no need at all for them to be apart from each other. Taeyong let himself wander into the living room as Doyoung searched for snacks in his refrigerator. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow,” he heard himself utter, running a finger gently up the spine of an ornate leather bound book. The shelves were packed full. And not just of high quality literature. Yes, there were plenty of the classics in beautiful, rich tones, but there were also graphic novels, memoirs, travel guides. Littered among the books were also trinkets. Carved figurines and vases full of incense. Taeyong pictured Doyoung bringing the goodies back from solo holidays and business trips, sprinkling memories into his apartment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He felt Doyoung’s shoulder brush lightly against his own. “I haven’t read nearly enough of these,” Doyoung chuckled, holding out a bottle of sparkling water for Taeyong. “Lemon okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Taeyong said, accepting the drink but refusing to take his eyes off everything in front of him. “This is - your home is gorgeous.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Doyoung’s voice was earnest, peaceful almost. Taeyong could write an album’s worth of songs about the pleasing lilt of that voice. Doyoung spoke again, “Will it make you feel strange if I have a glass of wine?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong’s struggle with addiction hadn’t been a dramatic movie montage of all-night benders or passing out in puddles of his own vomit. For lack of a better word, it had been relatively subdued. For the first few years of his career, Taeyong had no clear idea of why it felt so good to be partially numb, but it became his norm anyway. It wasn’t until Yuta grabbed a bottle of pills out of Taeyong’s hand backstage before a show, saying “You’re gonna kill yourself with these,” that Taeyong finally had an epiphany. He hated part of himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hated the always-polite, introverted, quiet kid inside him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> Taeyong was at complete odds with the image of each high-energy, devil-may-care musician that he had ever admired. When he had taken just enough shots of vodka or swallowed the perfect amount of pills, his confidence surged. He felt properly loosened up. Sometimes he even took an entire bottle of wine with him onstage because he found it was the perfect solution to make the edges of his brain go fuzzy when he felt the vodka wearing off while he performed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The day after Yuta had confiscated his pills, Taeyong knocked on the door of Yuta’s hotel room. With self-conscious tears in his eyes, he had asked Yuta if he thought he needed to go to rehab. They found a local Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and went to it together that afternoon. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Though it royally sucked to share his thoughts out loud, and he was anxious that a few attendees might recognize him, Taeyong admitted his greatest shortcomings. The more meetings he attended, the easier it got to confess the confines of his heart. Additionally, Yuta made sure to remind Taeyong that he didn’t have to fit into a mold. “Fans don’t like you because they think you’re a big partier or because you’re their ready-made, hackneyed rocker. They like you because it’s clear how much the music means to you.” Taeyong cried when Yuta said that, and then joked that he needed to get those words tattooed on the inside of his eyelids.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So, truthfully, no. It never bothered Taeyong to see others having a drink. He would still consider himself to be ‘in recovery’ for a while to come, perhaps always, but the indulgences of others weren’t his concern.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not.” Taeyong shook his head softly, scooping Doyoung’s hand into his palm. He guided the other’s hand toward his face and pressed it into his cheek. It felt so comforting that he let his eyes close for a few seconds. When he reopened them, Doyoung was smiling at him. “I like the way you look at me,” Taeyong blurted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He felt foolish for making such an admission, but Doyoung just smiled even wider. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Taeyong drew in a shuddering breath and stood up a bit straighter. “Um, wow,” he giggled softly at his own expense. “I really should have prefaced that some. What I mean is - and I don’t want this to sound narcissistic even though I know it probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a narcissistic thought it its core - I think you’re good at seeing past me. You don’t take me at face value. It reminds me of why I had to let go of all the pressure I was putting on myself. It’s...it’s just really nice, is all.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for sharing yourself with the world, Taeyong.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The kindness of the words almost knocked Taeyong off his feet. He bit his bottom lip, blinking away a few tears as he averted his gaze to the ground.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And thank you,” Doyoung continued, tilting Taeyong’s face back toward his own. “For sharing yourself with me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The earnestness of Doyoung’s words suddenly made Taeyong feel bold. “Does the tour of your place include a look at the bedroom?” Taeyong took note of the wild expression that flashed in Doyoung’s eyes, pleased to have set something ablaze within the dark haired man. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung slowly, and with great care, kissed four (so what if Taeyong was counting?) of Taeyong’s knuckles one by one. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> show you the bedroom,” Doyoung mused, keeping his mouth close enough to Taeyong’s hand that he could feel Doyoung’s supple lips brushing against the skin there. “But hadn’t you rather take a look at the view from my balcony first?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So you think all performers are exhibitionists, huh?” Taeyong taunted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doyoung huffed, smiling, “Don’t be so quick to forget that you’ve confessed some deeply personal things to me in the dark of the night, Lee Taeyong.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ooo, it’s sexy when you’re cryptic.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, I’m sexy all the time, then?” Doyoung cut his eyes at Taeyong before straightening up, letting Taeyong’s hand fall away from his lips.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was Taeyong’s turn to shrug smugly. “Are we going to continue the tour now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It would be my absolute pleasure.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please let me know what you think! and, even though this is currently a standalone piece, i adore these characters and am not against writing more of them. come find me on insta (@/au_roradiary) or tumblr (joongsfavedenim) if you want to see some of my other works!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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